I searched for the book I was reading with a feeling of annoyance toward myself for having misplaced it. Found it. Under a pile of useless kiddle. Now that I’ve found it, I no longer want to read it. I stare at the cover with a feeling of annoyance toward myself for having found it. It’s written by a famous author. It’s not good. It doesn’t translate. It’s not relevant. Only the timeless ones can do that. They write content that will give for hundreds of years. Think that’s not possible? One word. Bible.
If all the minds together couldn’t save us, what then? Could we walk among one another and learn why we ought to go on? Now? If not now, when? Let’s pretend there was one book that could sum the entirety of it all. Is it enough? Is it a large book? Is it a small book of quotes? Hush, don’t tell me of the bible. That’s not what I’m discussing. I’m talking here, now, the look in the child’s face when they have not one protector. If the look of innocence knew more than all of our thoughts combined, what then, could we learn? And would we remember. -M. Taggart